


Brute Force for that Head of Yours

by 1FrozenRutabaga



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1FrozenRutabaga/pseuds/1FrozenRutabaga
Summary: Arthur can't take it anymore. Luckily, Lance can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed more of these two, and more angst, so I did both.
> 
> Again, written in one sitting, it's pretty late, posting what I just wrote, you get the idea.

It was just a few pills. Okay, maybe not a few, but they were just pills. It wasn’t a cocktail by any means, just his sleep aids and painkillers. He had skipped more than enough doses of both, and he had nice stockpile that he had pooled into one cup. Little pills of reds and whites were all nestled in the cup, like little birds that had frozen over the winter. The cap was twisted on, tight enough to keep the cold in.

All Arthur had to do was open and let them fly.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The horrible phantom pains, the heart-pounding fear he felt at nearly every waking moment, the nightmares, the crushing guilt; all of it. Arthur felt like he was losing his mind each day, piece by piece. He could practically feel it leaking from his ears, liquid glass that had melted from the feverish nights and heat of home. He couldn’t eat without feeling like vomiting, couldn’t sleep without checking his room or wake up feeling rested.

There was a soft clicking sound. Arthur was startled by it, not even realizing that it until now and looked down at his hands clutching the bottle; they were trembling violently, the pills being rattled in the bottle. His knuckles were white against the bright orange, the steel fingers of his prosthetic bending the plastic and sweat beginning to gather in his flesh palm.

He caught himself in the mirror. Dark tangerine eyes, rimmed red and glassy, reflected against the glass, taking in the mess that he was. He looked like he had been thrown in the washer; he had skipped the washing part, of course. His hair sticking up in some places and limp in others, his skin a gross shade of white, like someone had mixed something in with glue. His top was slumped, falling a little short of his right shoulder, and his pants were rumpled and riddled with patches.

He was falling apart, his screws and bolts rusted and coming loose.

Arthur wouldn’t take what he could with each gulp, couldn’t, but what if he passed out before he got enough? Arthur didn’t want to wake up in the hospital or on the bathroom floor, but then again, he didn’t want Uncle Lance to find him. He didn’t want anyone to find him, but finding a place to die in peace out of town was near impossible with all the supernatural energies and wild animals. Should he still take them in the bathroom, to reassure his uncle that he had died peacefully, or should he go outside and find a rock formation to hide behind?

Suicide seemed a lot easier on paper, just not in action.

The lid had to come off the bottle. Right, that was the first thing. Well, the first thing had been checking to see if Lance was sleeping, the pounding snores a telltale sign that he was, the second had been making sure Galahad was fed and secure in his cage, because Arthur felt horrible uncomfortable at the thought of his hamster witnessing his suicide, and third to shut the bathroom door. Where had grabbing his stash of pills come in again? Had that have been first? What step was this, four? Would it be five now?

Lid. Right, the lid.

The lid of the bottle gave way under his faux hand, the small pop loud to Arthur’s ears. He set the lid aside, the plastic giving a small clatter against the porcelain. The pills were free to the air now, their colors too bright against the bathroom’s light.

_The forbidden candy._

Arthur let out a shuddering huff. God, he was such a horrible person. He was about to kill himself, and he was joking about it. Of course, there was only so much someone on the fence about suicide could do to ease into their choice, and it wasn’t like he was wrong. Really, he was just trying to reassure himself, to make it so that he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Now he just had to swallow them.

Should he use his prosthetic or his flesh hand to swallow them? Arthur knew neither were steady, but his prosthetic didn’t seem to be shaking that much. Maybe he should use his steel hand to hold the pills and the flesh one to hold the bottle? But then again, what if he dropped the bottle? Should he hold the bottle with his left hand instead then? But what if he dropped the pills with his right? It wasn’t too hard for him to screw-up, especially something like this.

Arthur nearly laughed: fucking up his own suicide.

Then he let out a quiet whine, because maybe he should fuck it up despite every fiber of his body telling him to do it.

He quickly covered his mouth; the whine was turning into a cry, and he could not wake up Lance. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, tears already escaping him. He hunched over, clutching the bottle and his mouth like both were the only things that existed. Small whimpers escaped him despite his swiftness, his body breaking into trembles.

He had to do this, he _had_ to. There was no other way that he could possibly–.

The sound of something hitting the door was lost when it slammed into the wall. Arthur jumped nearly a mile, eyes like polished fruits as he caught a flash of those all too familiar tiger locks of hair before he felt those incredibly strong arms wrap around his waist, his body weightless, and that small build of bulk slamming him into the floor on his stomach. The pills went flying, finally spreading their wings; flying in the wrong directions.

They reminded Arthur of ambulance lights.

Arthur yelped when his head ricocheted against the tiles. His back had cracked from Lance’s strength, his ribs and organs under the possibility of being crushed. The wind was knocked out of the young man, and he wheezed painfully in an attempt to recover most of it.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Lance screamed, fiery eyes wild.

Arthur choked. “Can’t breathe,” he managed to get out.

Lance’s weight was gone in an instant. Arthur let out a small thanks between his breaths, rolling on to his back. The ceiling light hurt his eyes, but Arthur found himself staring at it all the same.

Lance was staring at the mess of pills with wide eyes and a horrified face. “You were actually…”

The younger sat up, back and head aching, and looked at his uncle. Arthur shuddered, because he had never seen his uncle, his fierce and angry uncle, look so scared.

He tried to speak. “I…”

Lance turned on him in an instant, eyes practically flaming. Arthur shrank down, biting his lip. Dark tangerine eyes fell into his lap, watery and stinging. He had fucked up in the worst way possible. Now Uncle Lance would realize just how wrong he had been in taking Arthur in, how big the mistake had been and what a waste of time his nephew had been.

“I’m sorry,” was all Arthur could say, his voice a whisper, because what else could he say?

Silence. Then shuffling. Then warmth.

Lance didn’t hug his nephew often. It was a fairly rare thing for him to do, because why would he hug anyone at all? Lance was not a particularly affectionate person when it came to clearly showing love, and Arthur had never really had a problem with it. Arthur was perfectly fine with the rough pats on the back, the gruff good job and sort-of-playful punches to the arm. Lance just wasn’t a hugger, simple as that.

So Arthur felt like a frozen figurine when Lance hugged him.

And then he melted.

The sobs broke from his chest and left him to echo throughout the room. His hands came up and clutched Lance’s shirt, the white fabric knotting beneath his fingers; didn’t feel the skin he had caught with it, didn’t feel Lance slightly tense at the pain. His cries were loud and sharp, his head messy mane of hair thrown over his uncle’s shoulder and his body held against the smaller man. The position hurt, his legs and abdomen were cramping, but the warmth Lance was giving was almost too much to let escape.

Lance patted the thin twig of his nephew’s back gently. “I gotcha,” he said. “I gotcha, Artie.”

The nickname broke the illusion. Arthur felt that he didn’t deserve this, not the rare affection his uncle gave, and tried to pull away. “No,” he sobbed. When Lance didn’t let him go, Arthur cried, “Fuck. Stop, please stop.”

The begging jarred the gruff man, his grip loosening on near instinct. Arthur took advantage of it, moving away and bringing his legs up to his chest. He buried his face in his knees, hugging his legs, and continued to cry.

Lance felt something in him shrivel up and die at the sight of Arthur seeking comforting from himself. Lance wasn’t big on hugs, he had made that clear from day one when he took Arthur in, but he hadn’t expected things like this to happen. Hugs were things given out of comfort and love, and Lance wasn’t really good with those emotions. He made sure Arthur was cared for, he made it clear that he loved the boy like a son, but with the boy literally begging for him to let go…

“It’s too much,” Arthur managed past his sobs. “Too much.”

Lance felt a little relief: _some sensory overload._ He cleared his throat, his muscles tight. “Arthur,” he said, his gruff voice as soft as he could make it. “Just…relax, alright? It’s… You’re fine.” _As fine as a suicidal boy caught in the act could be._

“I’m sorry, I just–.” He could barely even talk. “I just can’t take it anymore,” he rasped.

“Take what?” Lance asked.

Arthur stiffened, face still buried. How could his uncle even begin to understand?

“Dammit, Arthur, tell me right now what’s going through that head of yours,” the older man barked, a quiet order. “I’ll get the wrench if you don’t tell me.”

A beat passed. Then Arthur gave a weak giggle. “Not the wrench.”

“I’ll beat you extra hard,” Lance went on, though he couldn’t help but give a tiny smile. Of course, that disappeared. “Just tell me what happened.”

Arthur finally lifted his head. He looked at Lance, the man on his knees with his burning tiger hair in disarray, and then to the mess of pills. Where would he even begin? With the divorce? With meeting Vivi and Lewis? The ghost hunting? The cliff? There was nowhere to start and nowhere where Arthur could pinpoint just why he wanted to disappear. It all just came together, a twisted monster of roots lost to soil.

The young man swallowed. “Can we just…? Tomorrow?” At Lance’s raised eyebrow, Arthur whispered, “Please?”

Lance’s instinct was the push, to get the answer from Arthur so he could fix the problem faster, but he knew the ice was too thin already. He sighed. “Sure, kid.”

Arthur’s eyes went back to the pills. “I’ll clean them up,” he murmured.

Lance almost went wild again, but he reigned himself in. “Arthur, just…”

“No,” the younger interjected. “I… I’m not making you clean up my mess.”

Sometimes Lance regretted the stubborn streak their family had. “I tackled you, so I made it.”

“I had them out in the first place.” Arthur crossed his arms, annoyance and fire in his eyes. “I’m helping.”

Lance was glad to see that his nephew still had some kick. “Fine. Pop one in your mouth and I’m punching it out of your gut.”

“I thought you were trying to stop me from being admitted to the hospital.”

“Arthur.”

“Sorry.”

Arthur was aware of his uncle’s hawk eyes on his back the entire time they picked up the pills. It stung a little, but Arthur reminded himself that he had nearly downed all of them before the man came barreling into the bathroom. The pills were plucked from the tiles and into the bottle that Lance had grabbed off the sink. Slowly it began to be filled again, back to where it had been before.

Lance, of course, noticed the surplus. “How long have you been hoarding these?” he asked.

Arthur flinched at wording. “A while,” he admitted. “I didn’t start skipping them for…this. I promise.”

The fiery eyes were smoldering. “Then what were you doing it for in the first place?”

Arthur didn’t answer. He bit his lip and swallowed instead to stop himself from crying again. Lance didn’t push. The short man stood, taking the bottle with him, and extended a hand towards his nephew. Arthur took it without a word and got to his feet.

“Arthur, look at me,” Lance ordered. Arthur looked down at him, attentive. “Can I trust you not to go for these again tonight?”

“Yeah,” the taller answered. Then he looked horribly sheepish. “Actually, could I take a painkiller? My arm…”

Lance sighed. “Was it like that already or did me tackling you do it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, already looking into the bottle. “Which one is it again?”

“The white ones. Two.”

Lance managed to fish them out despite his fingers and handed them to Arthur. “Why the hell do they make sleep aids so flashy if they’re supposed to be soothing?”

Arthur took them. “Makes it more appealing, I guess.”

“You don’t take them half the time, though,” the shorter man said gruffly. At Arthur’s wince, he said, “They’re just sleep aids, Arthur.” _The things that nearly just killed you._

The blond sighed. “You don’t…” He trailed off, rethinking the sentence. “I can’t wake up as easy,” he confessed.

“That’s kind of the point,” Lance said, not unkindly. “So you don’t like them because it’s harder for you to wake up?”

Arthur nodded.

Lance grunted. “Then we’ll find you a new way to help you sleep.” At his nephew’s surprised expression, he said, “What, you think I would just make you take them anyway? If they don’t help, then we get something different. Dammit, Arthur, you have to tell me these things.”

Had it really been that easy to say it? Arthur hadn’t been expecting Lance to be so…relenting. “I… Okay.”

“I’m seeing you put some things together, so maybe I won’t hit you with the wrench after all,” Lance told him, walking by.

Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little. “Not the wrench.”

“I might just grab a tire boot while I’m at it,” the man tossed back, smiling just a touch.

Arthur followed him out of the bathroom. “You already nearly broke my back,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, well maybe I need to break something else to fix whatever’s going on in that head of yours.” Lance glanced back. “You hungry? I could go for a late snack.”

Strangely enough, Arthur did feel a little hungry. “Sure,” he said. “Do we still have some crab from yesterday?”

“Going to say it now, not dealing with your gross seafood addiction at three in the morning.”

“You just don’t have taste.”

“I have enough taste to tell you that you need to expand your horizons.”

“To other oceans?”

“Hush up before I actually go get the wrench.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who were wondering where this chapter was, I broke my ankle last month a bit before Christmas and had to put everything on hold. I'm a very independent person, so it was hard on me and my self-esteem, but I'm back on my feet (with a slight limp and some pain but screw the fracture boot)
> 
> Thank you all for being patient, you guys are the best! And thank you to everyone who left your stories in the comments! There's no amount of words I can give for how grateful I am to you all for still being here.

The coffee was welcomed, even at the incredibly early hour. Arthur accepted the cup Lance brewed for him gratefully, the heat seeping into his hand. He blew over it, steam wafting, and went to take a sip. Then he noticed the color.

“Not black?” Arthur asked. Black wasn’t the only way Arthur took his coffee, he took it fine with whatever creamer was available (though he liked his coconut flavoring), but black had become a go-to for him recently.

“You don’t need it black,” Lance told him, taking his own cup from the counter and sitting down at the table. It was small and rounded, a pleasant yellow.

“Your coffee’s black,” the younger whined. “I can smell it.”

“I can handle my coffee intake, unlike you. I know when enough is enough.” Lance took a sip. “You’re too young for it anyways.”

Arthur snorted. “Sure, and I’m the king of Europe.”

Lance chuckled, a deep, grating sound. “You take after me more than I’d like to admit.”

Arthur’s heart gave a small, painful throb. He looked down at his mug, avoiding the fiery orange eyes as best he could.

Quiet. The AC was running in the garage.

“…I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered.

Lance looked tired. “But not entirely,” he said, more of a statement than a guess.

Arthur flinched. “I’m sorry for you seeing it,” the young man confessed.

“That’s what I thought,” Lance murmured. He took another sip of his coffee, the kick of black being the very thing keeping him sane at the moment.

The guilt closed in on Arthur again, his chest tightening. The urge to explain the mess that his mind was in, to say whatever came to his mouth, took ahold and yanked. “I wouldn’t have–! I didn’t know w-where to go and…! I didn’t mean–!”

“Arthur, hush,” Lance ordered.

Arthur’s mouth snapped shut.

The man was looking at him closely. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked after a beat.

Arthur’s throat was dry. “I…” His hand slid to his arm, gripping the metal tightly. Was there any way to tell the truth without sounding like a jerk? Arthur couldn’t find a better way to word it. “You’re really busy all the time, so…”

“Busy?” Lance blurted.

The young man winced. He took in a breath. “Y-yeah,” he said, surprised with himself. He wasn’t sure he could say that, let alone follow it up. “And I don’t want to distract you and all, so I just… Yeah.”

Lance felt like someone had socked him in the gut with an iron glove. He cleared his throat. “Arthur, I am _never_ too busy for you,” he said, voice rough. “I know it looks like I am, but I would drop an engine and sit with you if you told me that you weren’t feeling okay.”

The tangerine eyes were bright. “Really?” Arthur whispered.

The fact that Arthur was doubting his capacity to care really had Lance thinking about how things were going to change. “Absolutely.” He took a quick sip of his coffee. “From now on, you come to me anytime you don’t feel like yourself or you feel like doing that again. I’ll be sure to make myself a lot more welcoming.”

Arthur gaped. “You don’t have to do that!” he yelped, shocked by Lance’s proclamations. “I’ll come to you, promise, but you don’t have to change yourself and all.”

“Arthur, if we went back to how things were just yesterday, with you being miserable and me being clueless, how bad would you feel?”

Arthur blinked. “Uh…” _Unloved. Unimportant. Alone._ “Pretty bad, I guess,” he said.

Lance snorted. “You guess. You’d feel like absolute shit and that’s a fact.” He gave a slight head tilt. “You’d feel pretty good knowing that I was going to be there for you from now on, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” the younger admitted. “But…”

“So I have to make it obvious that I’m going to be there for you, and things are going to change to get it through your head,” Lance said. “And I am going to be there for you. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or who I’m talking with, you come first before anyone else, you hear?”

Arthur swallowed, struggling past his tight throat. “You…”

The fiery eyes were firm and warm. “Do you hear that?” he repeated. “You come first, Arthur. I care about you more than anything, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to come off as a cold, unloving asshole any longer to you. I might not be the best or the most caring uncle, but I’m willing to do anything to make things better for you.”

Arthur sniffed. He didn’t know what he started crying, but his face was wet and hot. He wiped his eye, but it did nothing to stop the flood of tears. Lance stood from his chair and made his way to Arthur’s side, settling a hand on a thin shoulder.

“The world can’t lose another light like you,” Lance told him, his voice low. “There’s so much to do and see, Artie, and we’ll get through this so you can experience that.”

The young man looked at him with teary eyes. “Together?” he asked, needing the confirmation.

Lance gave an easy smile. “Yeah. Swear on it.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a shaky smile, then fell away to let out quiet sobs. Lance just patted his shoulder, muttering words of comfort. The coffee was left forgotten, just out of reach from Arthur’s tears. The sun was starting to peek through the clouds, creeping into the kitchen.

_Together, Artie._ Lance looked at the cooling coffee. _Together._

A few minutes passed, the quiet sobs dying away. Arthur straightened himself, taking deep breaths. Lance was still there, his hand arm on Arthur’s shoulder. The young man wiped his eyes, gathering himself. _I can do this._

“You alright?” the man asked.

Arthur nodded, sniffling. “Yeah,” he croaked. He coughed. “I’m okay now.”

“Okay. Now I’ve never had these thoughts,” Lance said, “so I’m going to sound like a prick whenever you tell me how you’re feeling. I’ll get my head out of the sand real quick, but I’ll need you to explain everything as best you can before that happens, alright? Remember, I’m not trying to be a prick, I just need to understand what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll try.”

Lance let out a satisfied grunt. “Good.” He gave Arthur’s shoulder another pat and moved past him. “Now help me make breakfast.”

The younger groaned. “How can I make breakfast without black coffee?” he lamented, throwing a mocking arm over his eyes.

“Hush up,” Lance said, though he was smiling a bit. “All this emotion has me hungry.”

Arthur stood up. “Same,” he agreed.

The smaller turned his head with a playful scowl. “Oh, now you’re good without black coffee.”

Arthur stuck out his tongue. Lance gave him a light punch on the shoulder. The younger grabbed at Lance’s hair, though his hand was quickly intercepted and his stance knocked lower. Lance wrapped a loose arm around Arthur’s neck and gave him a quick knuckling, grinning, before releasing him. “Get the eggs,” Lance said. “And don’t even think about touching anything in there from water.”

“Got it,” Arthur said. A small smirk, however, was on his face.

“I mean it.” The fiery eyes were firm. “It’s too early for me to be smelling that seafood junk.”

The younger blond opened the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll learn to like it one day.”

Lance made a mock gagging sound. Arthur snorted.

The dark tangerine eyes caught the sunrise from the window. It seemed…more beautiful than it usually did, more important. Arthur looked over at Lance, the stout man digging through a cabinet to find the frying pan. Nothing had physically changed, but everything felt suddenly different. The sun’s rays felt a little warmer, brighter, and Lance’s hair seemed shaggier and his stature more muscly. The chill of the fridge seemed amplified as well, and Arthur swore he could hear the AC louder than normal.

_Things are different…_

…But it wasn’t a bad thing.

Lance had finally grabbed the pan and turned around. Arthur was standing there, eggs in hand, with a dazed look in his eyes.

“Arthur?” Lance called. The young man jolted from his daze. “Something wrong?”

The faint lines on Lance’s face seemed more prominent, the fiery eyes burning brighter. His scowl seemed calmer, less annoyed and more welcoming. Already he was changing, but he still kept the comforting stature and firmness that Arthur had grown up with.

Arthur smiled easily. “I love you, uncle.”

Lance was faintly surprised, expression softening into a light shock. Then he smiled as well. “I love you too, Artie,” he said. He tapped the pan against the counter. “Now let’s get those eggs cracking.”

And when they were standing over the counter, cracking eggs with the occasional swear when a shell slipped into the yoke, Arthur knew that it would be okay. Not immediately, not for a while, but they would be.

_They would be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you for being here. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'll write a happy story with these two. Really, I will. Promise.
> 
> Also I do imagine Lance with a little bit of an accent, not sure what, but I'm too tired to try and really do anything with it, so just put your own interpretations in for the moment.


End file.
